Lined Conversations
by The Dream Whisperer
Summary: “You’re not content with second-rate strength, are you?” Reborn, Hibari, and the power of words to teach, or perhaps manipulate. GEN.


**Lined Conversation   
**

**Characters/Pairings:** Reborn, Hibari. Gen.**  
Rating: **PG for violence**  
Words:** 1590**  
Summary: **"You're not content with second-rate strength, are you?" Reborn, Hibari, and the power of words to teach, or perhaps manipulate.

Silver tonfas flashed in the meagre light provided by one solitary light bulb hanging on the ceiling like a pendulum. It was completely still for a moment. Then there was a _crack,_ and blood splattered hard and loud against the concrete walls already decorated with specks of grit, bone and brain matter. The corpse (_brown hair, who had always moved with his left foot first, followed by the shoulder when he shot_) slid downwards, leaving thick trails of crimson gleaming like fresh, wet paint.

Hibari's eyes were impassive as his wrists flicked outwards, scattering droplets of blood across the grey floor. He started to leave, taking care not to step on the growing mountain of corpses at his feet. Not for the sake of propriety or respect for the dead (the very thought made his lips curl), but simply because he did not care to dirty his shoes.

_Squelch_, the sounds of leather soles pressing against sticky, slowly congealing blood followed him even as he stepped out of the mansion he had just completely demolished.

They had called themselves the Castellano _famiglia_, four generations young and rising very quickly through the ranks in the recent years due to the efforts of its Fourth Don. Like all young, arrogant _famiglias_ – like all young, arrogant Don – they had set their eyes on the Vongola as the kingpin of the mafia that they had to defeat. They wanted to become to strongest, and in order to do that, they thought they had to dethrone the most powerful itself.

_Fools_.

Sawada Tsunayoshi was a merciful man – he had only sent his guardians after four of the five Castellano's bases. The smallest one – in Vienna, tucked in a corner of the high end streets and masquerading itself as a furniture store – was left intact and a beacon for the Don to return to and regroup. Sawada Tsunayoshi could have annihilated that _famiglia_ and the mafia would not have batted an eye. It was simply the way things were done: the Castellano were fools to have made the first move.

But he didn't. Sawada Tsunayoshi was too soft still, clinging stubbornly onto the skin of the herbivore. He wanted peace amongst the warmongers; and he refused to use the strength – the _force_ – he had gained to achieve his wishes simply because he didn't wish to hurt anyone. Yet he did not back down from the challenges Hibari offered; did not seem intimidated by him in any way. During the few times they fought, Sawada Tsunayoshi actually managed to nearly _win_.

It was impressive enough to be acknowledged.

There was a strike of a match. Light grey smoke curled in the air before Hibari tossed the match behind him into a pool of leaked battery acid. It caught fire, and as Hibari strolled out of the mansion, flames burnt bright and red behind him and beside him, framing him as if he was a God of War waiting for worshippers to fall down to their knees.

Hibari lifted his eyes as he stepped out into the sunlight, pale skin gleaming clean without a single speck of blood staining. His clothes were completely spotless as well; he appeared to have stepped out from a formal dinner partly rather than a ferocious massacre.

What greeted him was not a throng of devotees falling to his feet, but a glimpse of orange out of the corner of his eyes. Hibari turned around, his tonfa immediately raising, feet shifting into an aggressive stance. He could hear the crackle of dry grass and leaves beneath leather heels, and the softest shifting of quality wool against wool.

Reborn stepped out from behind a copse of trees, eyes sharp and hidden beneath the brim of his fedora. There was the smallest of an upward curve to his lips – barely visible even if one squinted. The only sure way to be able to notice it was to realize just _who_ he was.

Mafioso. Assassin. _The greatest hitman in the world_.

"Hibari," he greeted, inclining his head. The smirk on his face widened.

"Baby," Hibari returned monotonously.

Reborn was the only man who would turn his back on Hibari Kyouya. He did just that, arms deceptively still and harmless at his side as he began to walk away.

"Come."

Eyes narrowing, Hibari's deadly intent grew in the space between the two of them, sharp like the spiked ball that was his box weapon. The air was thick and suffocating, but Reborn's steps did not even falter, much less stop. He turned around, and his eyes on Hibari were blatantly challenging.

Hibari scowled, growling under his breath. Yet in the end, he followed.

***

"I will die," Reborn said, starting without pleasantries because Hibari had never been the sort to need any.

There was no shocked silence; no loud denials; no awkward laughter in response. Hibari merely tilted his head to the side, a curious light entering his eyes. Reborn turned his head to look at him, stopping in his steps. His back was straight and strong, hands relaxed at his side; the antithesis of a dying man.

"The non-Trinisette radiation will kill me," Reborn explained, and he sounded like he was discussing the weather. _The skies are clear today, there will be no rain_. "I will not be able to stop it."

"Are you that weak now, baby?" Hibari asked, cold and matter-of-fact. He would have sounded bored if not for the whitening knuckles as he clenched his hands around his tonfas.

Reborn's smile was amused, "Yes." He nodded, and it was far from an admission of defeat as Hibari's tonfa rose into an aggressive position. There was fire spitting from the younger man's eyes. But Reborn ignored it, looking outwards to the horizons.

"Even the strongest men have their weaknesses," he commented idly before taking a step forward, hovering at the edge of Hibari's wide personal space.

Immediately, Hibari reacted. He rushed in, tonfas out and lips drawn back. Reborn merely looked at him for a moment before he moved, stopping him with a hand, inches from his throat.

"You're slowing down," Hibari observed dispassionately. He pressed forward, heels lifting off the ground as he leaned his weight against Reborn's hand. The hitman inclined his head – as if in agreement – before he let go of the tonfa, stepping back.

Yet Hibari had known him for long enough to predict the move. If he had been ten years younger, he would have stumbled forward, falling right into Reborn's trap. He wasn't such a fool now, however, so he merely rocked back on his heels, legs spreading out as he bent his knees, steadying himself further.

Reborn smirked, "You have improved."

Hibari didn't even bother to acknowledge the compliment, simply cocking his head to the side. "What do you want, baby?" After all, Reborn had never approached anyone without a motive; without wanting something from them. Hibari knew that perfectly well – after all, he wasn't a fool.

And Reborn knew that too.

"The Millefiore will target Tsuna next," his smile was dark, mirthless. "And Tsuna will die."

There was no reaction from the Vongola's Cloud Guardian. Reborn had not expected there to be one, so he continued, "Our ten years younger selves will be arriving soon-"

"You are admitting defeat," Hibari interrupted him, eyes narrowed.

Reborn shook his head immediately, his hand slipping into his pocket and curling around the gun. "Death is not the greatest defeat. No," and his smile morphed into a smirk, _vicious_ and calculating. He looked straight into Hibari's eyes, and his tone was almost lecturing. He had, after all, always been a teacher.

"It is merely a tool to win."

Hibari's sceptical silence spoke volumes, but Reborn knew better than to be discouraged. After all, if the Cloud Guardian was truly disinterested, he would have walked away a long time ago. Leaning back against a tree, he crossed his arms, head tilted down. The perfect portrait of casualness and relaxation.

(Hibari, in response, tensed up further, his fists tightening around his tonfas.)

"I need you to train them for me."

"Your past self can do the same," Hibari said, his tonfas falling to his side and disappearing into his sleeves. His shoulders shifted, as if to turn away. "I don't mingle with those herbivores."

Reborn's lips quirked upwards. In this storm of change, Hibari's nature had remained like a steadfast rock – steady and never changing. Not even water could wear through it. He pushed himself off the tree, but did not step forward.

"They are only weak _now_, Hibari," his fingers tapped against a hip, a four-beat rhythm that drew Hibari's eyes towards it. That hand was far too close to a gun. "They will grow stronger; stronger than what they are now. " He paused, his lips curving up into a full-fledged smirk.

"You're not content with second-rate strength, are you?"

Hibari turned around, meeting Reborn's black eyes with his own grey ones. His killing intent flared at the near insult, silver flashing at the edges of his sleeves. But he did not move; nor did Reborn move.

There was a loud, pregnant silence, broken periodically by the sounds of the house burning down in the distance, and the ringing of sirens.

"Don't presume anything about me, baby." Hibari's words came out as a soft, bitten-off growl.

Reborn turned, starting to walk away. "I won't."

The idea was already planted in Hibari's mind; that was all he needed to do or say.

After all, a teacher's job was only to guide.

_End_


End file.
